Tom Kitchin's eponymous Edinburgh restaurant is one of the best in Britain,
says Matthew Norman. Book a table today.

If any pseudoscientific theory has sprouted wings recently, it is that of nominative determinism. Thanks to the likes of the British heavyweight boxer Tyson Fury, former Barclays chief executive Rich Ricci, Tory backbencher Ivor Hugewidescreentelly-Onthetaxpayer (I may have made one up) and others, the notion that a name can somehow shape a person’s destiny has caught on.

I was about to adduce the chef-proprietor of today’s restaurant in its support. But this fails on the twin grounds of vagueness and mild dyslexia. Had he been born Tom Rampant-Genius-in-the-Kitchen it would work, but in fact he is plain Tom Kitchin. While he may be familiar to you from BBC Two’s Great British Menu, his telly appearances offer barely the wispiest flavour of a colossal talent, and none whatever of what a superlative restaurant he and his wife, Michaela, have created a few miles from Calton Hill in Leith, once the stamping ground of Renton, Sick Boy, Begbie and co in Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting, now tentatively gentrified.

Joining me were our esteemed motoring columnist, Alexei Sayle, in the midst of a triumphant Festival run; and his wife, Linda. The three of us were blown away by a meal which, none the less, provoked a psychotic jag. For The Kitchin, vastly superior to its three-star competitors in our view, has been gifted by Michelin with but one solitary star.

What elevates it to the very highest plinth of the pantheon is a glorious combination of imaginative, technically brilliant and very serious cooking, and glorious informality. “Everyone’s pretty dressed down,” observed Alexei over drinks in a conservatory-style bar. Beautifully lit, with an excellent acoustic and deep umber walls, with curtains drawn the room generates a cosseting warmth.

Kitchin’s “philosophy”, as expressed in his book From Nature to Plate, is to take the finest local ingredients and cook them with the classical French technique learnt under his mentor Pierre Koffmann; but to refrain from every trace of pretension. His dishes are complex – and look exquisite – but each ingredient is there to complement and draw out the others rather than to allow him to showboat.

After a breezy Czech sommelier had recommended a delicious Austrian white, from a slightly scary wine list, the maître d’ prefaced the taking of the order by handing us maps of Scotland with the source of each ingredient marked. “We are very proud to be Scottish,” he said in a French accent. “Chef would be ’appy,” he continued, “if one of you ordered the grouse.” Befittingly, in this nominative-determinist context, this gave rise to our one and only grouse. Charging £40 for a bird available in a good butcher’s for £7 or £8, however flawlessly cooked, verges on the cheeky.

And that, so far as the moaning, was that. An amuse-bouche of chilled tomato consommé was spectacular, as was the huge complimentary scallop with sweet chilli sauce served after three majestic starters. Linda loved her ravioli of Newhaven lobster, with shredded vegetables and girolles, while my razor clams (“smoots” in local argot) came chopped in a hollowed-out shell with diced veg and chorizo in a superbly creamy, lemony, shalloty sauce. Alexei backed the winner in the form of a signature dish in which the meat from a pig’s head – “incredibly rich without being overbearing” – was rolled into a tower, and served with two fleshy langoustines and a deep-fried pig’s ear fashioned to resemble spun sugar.

Signature dish: pig's head meat served with langoustines (CHRIS WATT)

Alexei’s disturbing mastery of weaponry in all its myriad forms has featured on this page before, and during the inter-course hiatus he graciously offered an expert demonstration of how to conceal a knife in the hand before striking with it. He then used that knife in more conventional fashion to set about his grouse, which came with the best bread sauce I’ve tasted, game chips and girolles. The meat was immaculately cooked to a deep pink finish, while the coup de théatre was a scooped-out roastie filled with the heart and liver of the bird.

In a desperate hunt for more quibbles, we wondered if Linda’s poached monkfish tail might have been cooked for about two seconds too long; but the fish was “wonderfully fresh”, infused with saffron for an alluringly burnished look, and came with squat lobster, broad beans and sea herbs.

My roast saddle of rabbit used almost every part of the animal, each as juicy and delicate as the next, the innate sweetness of the meat ideally offset by mildly tart artichoke hearts and black olives.

The portions were so generous that we confined ourselves to a single shared pudding: you will be astounded to learn that its mingling of tonka bean ice cream, sandwiched between two layers of dark chocolate, with macerated cherries, once more illustrated Kitchin’s remarkable gift for perfectly balancing huge flavours.

“I’d love to come back for the tasting menu, I bet that’s something else,” said Alexei over coffee and lavish petit fours – a no-risk punt if ever there was one, because this is unquestionably one of the greatest restaurants in Britain today. Go if you can (though patience is required with a four to six-month wait for a weekend table), and call me Matthew Dinna-Ken-McDunce if I’m wrong.

78 Commercial St, Edinburgh EH6 6LX (0131 555 1755; The Kitchin). Three courses with wine and coffee: £100-£120 per head